Madeline Sheehan - Unattainable

“I think,” she said softly, “that I want you too.”

Need, hot and heady, raced through his already shaking body. He wanted to fuck her so damn bad; he wanted to push her down face first into his bed and take her hard and fast from behind.

But at the same time he wanted to feel those lips again, against his mouth, down his body, wrapping around his cock, taking him into her mouth.

And yet, he couldn’t do either. He couldn’t fuck her the same way he’d fucked so many whores, on his bed, half-conscious, refusing to look at them. And he couldn’t allow her to touch him, not sexually, not without becoming violent or sick, or motherfucking both.

“I’m so fucked-up,” he continued, his voice breaking. “I can’t be…with a woman.”

“Michael,” she said and he could hear the choked-back tears in her voice. “We don’t have to be…together. We can be friends. I want to be friends.”

“Why?” he asked brokenly. “Why would a woman like you want anything to do with a man like me?”

“You may have done bad things,” she whispered tearfully. “But you’re not a bad man, Michael. You saved my life, and you saved my life because you have a good heart. Now I want to do the same for you.”

Dirty’s heart exploded.

He was done.

Motherfucking done for.

“So, is it just your arms or do you have other tattoos?”

I jerked my eyes away from the window and back to the man across the table. “Hmm?”

He gestured at my arms with his hummus-covered fork. “Your tattoos,” he said. “Do you have more?”

“Oh,” I said blandly. “Yeah, I’m covered.”

“That’s so hot,” he replied, grinning. “I love women who don’t conform to society’s ideals.”

Slumping back in my chair, I raised an eyebrow. Why the fuck had I agreed to this? Oh, right, because Hayley is a persistent bitch determined to marry me off to some douchebag.

Last week it had been a personal trainer named Todd who obviously frequented a tanning salon more than most women did. He’d loved talking, but only about himself and how crazy awesome he was. Halfway through dinner, unable to stomach another second of Todd’s love affair with himself, I’d shoved my chair back, got to my feet, and said, “Really, this was great, I absolutely loved hearing all about your body mass index and how sexy your abdominal muscles are, but I’m really late for an important date with a screwdriver.”

Poor thing had looked so confused.

“A screwdriver,” I repeated. “I need to jam one into my skull to try and erase this last excruciatingly painful hour of my life.”

And this week it was David, the computer analyst. He was decent-looking, I guessed. Another hipster, like there weren’t enough in this fucking city already, with shaggy hair and a love of skinny jeans. But he was boring and had the personality of a rock. I’d almost prefer to be with Todd the Tool; at least then I’d have something to mentally poke fun at.

Sighing, I crossed my arms in front of my chest. I’d promised Hayley I’d see this shit through but more importantly, I’d promised myself that when I got back from Miles City I wasn’t going to wallow in everything that could never be.

I’d told myself, in no uncertain terms, that I would give ZZ the boot in the kindest way possible and then move on to giving another man a fighting chance. I told myself that I would finally start working toward my goal of someday becoming a novelist, but most importantly, that I would keep myself busy so as not to resort to self-pity, self-loathing, and ultimately self-destruction.

So far, nothing I did was working. ZZ hadn’t come back yet, and I was a goddamn train wreck.

Fuck Deuce. Fuck that mean old bastard.

Doin’ this for your own good, Tegen. Cage ain’t never gonna change. Seen this shit before, him thinkin’ he’s fallin’ for a bitch and then it all goes down the same in the end. Him gettin’ bored and goin’ back to stickin’ his shit in all sorts of filth.

Deuce had been right. Cage had played the same game for years. I’d watched him, jumping from woman to woman to woman to woman to woman.

Why should I be any different? Just because I wanted it so badly?

Ha.

Three weeks ago, the moment my plane had landed in San Francisco, self-pity had taken root and self-loathing said hello the very second I’d walked into my empty apartment. I had no doubt that self-destruction was waiting just around the corner like a goddamn pickpocket bouncing on his heels, just watching from the shadows, waiting to pounce, anticipating the moment my guard would be down.

I couldn’t let it go. It was every inch as painful the last time I’d had my heart broken. Only…no, this was so much worse.

That stupid motherfucker had told me he loved me. Positioned over top of me, easing himself slowly into my body so that I felt everything, every stretch, every quiver, every clench of my muscles, all the while staring down at me, into my eyes.

I love you, Teacup.

And suddenly I wanted to run straight back to Miles City, to the clubhouse, to Cage.

You know exactly what you’re gonna fuckin’ do here. You’re gonna put your skinny ass on the back of my bike, you’re gonna move into my fuckin’ house, you’re gonna cook and you’re gonna clean, and you’re gonna fuck me whenever the fuck I want it.

I’d been so close to throwing away everything. What about what I wanted from life? One weekend with Cage and suddenly none of that mattered to me anymore?

Yeah, whatever. I was such a flake. I didn’t even know what my own wishes were anymore. A fucking wishy-washy bitch with a bad attitude. Flip-flopping like a dying fish on the shore. I could get another million tattoos and piercings, but it still wouldn’t cover up what I’d been trying to hide all these years.

That I didn’t have a clue who I was. Or what I wanted.

It was official. I was an asshole with a permanently broken heart.

I stared vacantly across the restaurant, feeling a million different things. Shame, lust, love, pain, guilt, humiliation, anger, bitter acceptance…

And hate.

Yep, I hated myself for letting myself feel anything, for letting that man inside of me again. For being so completely and utterly weak when it came to him that if he touched me, all was lost. Every brick in the wall I’d built up around myself would instantly crumble and I’d immediately succumb to the feelings I’d always had for him. Feelings that I was terrified were never going to die out.

“I don’t have any, myself,” David said. “I’m not a fan of needles but I respect anyone who has the pain threshold to withstand the amount of tattooing you have.

“It’s a proven fact,” he continued, “that women have a higher tolerance for pain than men do. I believe it stems from the fact that women are built to bear children, whereas men—”

“Do you want to go fuck?” I interrupted, bored to tears yet filled with an anxiety-ridden sense of longing that I couldn’t seem to shake.

David’s eyes widened. “What?”

I snorted. “You heard me, fucker. Yes or no?”

“Uh…” Bewildered, David shook his head. “Yes?”

“Great,” I said curtly, already getting to my feet. “Let’s go.”

Scrambling to his feet, David yanked his wallet out of his pocket and quickly tossed several bills on the table. Then we headed toward the exit and were on our way back to my place.

As soon as my apartment door closed behind us, David’s greedy hands were all over me. Closing my eyes, mentally detaching my soul from my body, I let him do whatever he wanted. I didn’t care; I just wanted the pain to stop.

Self-destruction, I thought bitterly. Party of one, please.

• • •

Positioned behind her, Cage gripped the woman’s thigh, raising her leg, and pushed inside her body.

Several strokes passed and he whispered, “Feel good, babe?”

He stopped moving. Every time. He said the same damn thing to every bitch he fucked, every fucking time.

“Oh yeah, baby,” she whispered back while grinding her backside against his hips. “Sooo good, baby, sooo big and so good.”

Already bored with her, he reached for her chin, gripped it, and turned her head to the side, giving him better access to her lips. Crushing his mouth to hers, he shut her right the fuck up and resumed fucking her, faster this time, not too fast but rhythmic. The slap of bodies, the sound of messy kissing, her breathy moans escaping when he allowed her small glimpses of air.

It was all the same.

He was on autopilot. He wasn’t even attracted to her.

Average body, average face, only attractive because she was still young.

Why was he even hard?

Of course he was hard. Of-fucking-course. Why wouldn’t he be? This was what he did. It seemed like he did it for a living. He should be getting paid for his motherfucking services, he did it so damn much.

And all he could think about was not this stupid bitch, but another woman. One who’d played the fucking game as good as he did.

But he kept at it, kept at fucking the bitch until she was soaking wet and whimpering against his mouth. Reaching between her legs to where they were joined, he found her. He worked her skillfully, doing the same damn thing he’d done a million times before to a shit ton of different women.

“Cage,” she gasped, sucking in a sharp quick breath as her body locked up. He stopped kissing her and watched as her eyes rolled back, her eyelids fluttering wildly, feeling the usual sort of detachment he usually felt watching a woman orgasm. From his position behind her, he saw her toes curl and the tendons in her feet bulge.